


Varulk: A Biological Study

by GloryBee



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: A lot - Freeform, Also Derek goes kinda sappy there for a minute, Derek and Stiles banter, F/M, M/M, Not gratuitous but enough that a warning seems necessary, and there is sex, bet you weren't expecting that, slight angst, some violence, there is schmoop, woah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-01-12
Packaged: 2017-11-25 07:23:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GloryBee/pseuds/GloryBee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day the humans discovered the Varulk, and their planet, should have been a day when two species came together to share ideas that would help them both to grow. Instead, it sparked a hatred that would lead to a war--a war that has lasted more than a hundred years. But now, with a tentative peace unfolding, the Council is attempting to regress these two peoples into war.<br/>Or, Derek is an alien space prince and Stiles just wants to study plants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Varulk: A Biological Study

**Author's Note:**

> Wooh! I finally got this done to almost satisfactory levels. I lost the original in a painful computer crash (I wiped my whole harddrive...) And had to redo most of it. I still think there's some pacing issues, so if anyone has comments on that feel free to share.  
> I hope you guys enjoy my entry for the Teen Wolf Reverse Bang!

My art prompt is by the lovely [bluequasar](http://bluequasar.livejournal.com/) over on livejournal! 

“The Varulk are savages. They are warlike even in appearance, and their culture is vicious. Each Varulk is akin to a slave, serving their king—who they call Rystar. We suspect it means something akin to Master. This totalitarian leader uses a form of mind control or telepathy to control the masses. Fascinating and new as this is, they are nothing more than monsters.” –Dr. Richard Quint, Reporting to the Earth Senate, 2810AD

 

“These creatures should be eradicated purely for their crimes against each other. They are like the long extinct wolves of Earth—and they will devour us when winter comes.” –Earth President Obadiah Kane, Declaring War on Varulk, 2840AD

 

“A hundred years we have been fighting the humans for our survival. A hundred years we have watched them destroy our world, as well as their own. In these hundred years we have begun to lose our strength, and forget our roots. Already, children begin to forget their respect for the trees, and for the moons. We must end this war if we ever hope to return to balance.” –Rystar Cariss Hvaille, Going into Hiding, 2953AD

 

“Peace, at last. Now we can begin to heal. All of us.” Chancellor Jonathon Stilinski, Addressing the Senate, 2962AD

 

“Now, they are letting Varulk into our children’s schools, beginning with the elite StarCross Academy. Has the price of peace become the safety of our children?” Amelia Munroe, Universal Newscast, 2962AD

 

 

 

2963AD

VARULK

 

Laura’s room was full of hanging silk and gauzy curtains. It was all done in warm reds and hazy purples, like the sky just before it was overcome in blackness. Laura had said she’d seen it in a film once that took place in Earth’s old Middle East. Derek knew exactly which film, because it was his. One of many that he’d dragged Laura to watch with him the first time he’d found it. He had loved that film; filled with wild color and music that clanged on just the right side of upbeat.

When Laura had proposed her current décor, Derek had been taken with the idea. It wasn’t very different from the way the Varulk decorated, and despite being a bit loud for his own tastes, he enjoyed her enthusiasm. They hadn’t had a lot to smile about at the time.

Now, he regretted her small act of rebellion, in turning the royal chambers into her own hiding place. Varulk was muggy and hot, but all the hangings made it seem even more oppressive than it was. He could practically feel the warmth rolling from the balcony in waves.

Not for the first time, Derek missed the cool forests of his youth. His skin itched with a slight stickiness, and even after nearly two years, he wasn’t sure he was used to that. He missed the tall pine trees that swayed in the breeze, and the fog that curled around everything in the early mornings. He craved the quiet of Earth, the forests that were being rejuvenated after hundreds of years of abuse. But all that was waiting there was the burned out shell of a home. Besides, Derek was now oddly attached to the wilds of his home planet as well.

            Lounging on a law couch, Laura watched her brother. She’d fallen into her role as Rystar with the ease of someone born to the job. Of course, she had been. Still, slouched on a sofa in her bedroom, she lost all the sense of majesty she carried with her into court. She sank into the rich cushions with a heavy sigh, and Derek looked her carefully in the eye. “The Chancellor has a son at StarCross.” Her voice was quiet, exhausted and drawn like a taut thread.

            To Derek, it seemed a completely random statement. He’d met John on a few occasions, but a son had never been mentioned. Derek didn’t engage in small talk well, and he tried to stay away from politics as much as was possible—he wasn’t good at them, not patient enough or calculating enough. “So,” he replied. He didn’t mean to come off sounding cool, but he did anyways.

            A small amount of anger crowded its way onto Laura’s face, frustration that her brother didn’t understand her reasoning. “So,” she began, voice tilted towards sarcasm, “he’s a target. The council is going to attempt something to keep us from making this peace final, and it stands to reason that it will involve him.”

            Blinking, Derek nodded, “They’ll try to use him as leverage.”

            Laura smiled wanly, swallowing the urge to mock her brother’s naivety. Derek liked to believe that people did not harm others needlessly in real life, that evil only existed in the old films he collected. “Or they’ll just kill him and make it look like one of us did it.” Laura huffed, “And now they want to hold their final exam on our planet, as an act of goodwill.”

            “Forcing them to run through jungles full of Varulk does seem like some kind of opportunity,” Derek mused, mostly under his breath. Laura nodded anyways, her eyes closing lazily for a moment.

            “The kid needs someone to watch out for him.” Peter spoke from the doorway to the wide balcony, leaning gracefully against the wall. He seemed slightly gleeful at the thought, smiling slyly as he pushed away from the wall. He moved like the great Kippur of the jungles, feline grace and sleek muscle, reminding Derek of the pictures of leopards he’d seen on earth as a child. “We should send someone we can trust,” Peter, Uncle Peter who’d lived down the hall Derek’s whole life, brushed a hand over Laura’s shoulder as he crossed behind her. The casual touch, a fact of life for the tactile Varulk, made something in Derek bristle. Peter picked up Laura’s feet gently and sat, placing her legs across his lap as he purred, “someone we know can protect the brat.”

            Derek felt the urge to growl at his uncle. For the hundredth time, he had the nagging feeling that he was missing something. He couldn’t see Peter’s endgame. Derek remembered finding Peter standing outside their burning house, shocked to see Derek and Laura coming out of the trees. They’d snuck out for a midnight run, chasing deer when they should have been sleeping. They should have been in the house. Derek wasn’t about to forget where Peter would be if he and Laura had stayed inside that night.

            Before Derek could slip deeper into his thoughts, the ones that begged him to pull Laura to the side and voice his suspicions, he was snapped back, breaking the surface with a start. Laura was saying his name.

            “I trust you,” she murmured, “more than anyone. And John Stilinski’s son needs to be kept safe if this treaty is going to hold.”

            Glancing at Peter, who was staring Derek down with a challenge in his eyes, Derek quipped, “What do you want me to do, follow him everywhere he goes?” The sarcasm that bled into his tone was only to hide the sudden brief insight into Peter’s head. Derek would be gone for nearly 9 months, playing bodyguard for a human. In that time, Peter could pull all kinds of plans together.

            Laura grinned, the playful expression she wore when she teased, “Precisely. We can enroll you at StarCross as a student. My successor, a sign of trust. You’ll love it. It’ll be just like one of those disc thingies you watched when we were kids.”

            “Movies,” Derek muttered, “They’re called movies.” His sister knew that perfectly well, but she had always found his soft spot for human films amusing. Derek turned and began walking away before he’d even finished his sentence, fuming slightly. He felt angry at everything, the whole universe, and the ease with which his sister had just essentially assigned him to babysitting duty was just another complaint to add to the pile. As he stalked down the corridor, Derek heard Peter’s laughter following him like a mocking ghost.

 

 

2963AD

COUNCIL HEADQUARTERS

 

            They met in a shadowy room, a cliché that had been carried out as tradition since the discovery of an alien species. Each of the men who gathered there were well dressed, with stern expressions and a frigidness to them that could cool down even the rainforests of Varulk. These were men who had done well for themselves during the war, who had used it to their every advantage, even as they advocated the destruction of an entire species.

            “How go the preparations?” one man asked. His tone was disinterested, but his eyes glinted with a manic sort of passion that possessed nearly all of them.

            “Everything is set. The idiots agreed to it easily.” The man who spoke was old, but looked healthy and strong. His eyes were the coldest in the room.

            Another stood from his seat, looking angry. “You forget one thing, Gerard. Their savage queen has sent her heir to your school.”

            Gerard smiled around the table with razor sharpness before replying, “Yes. Don’t worry. This is part of the plan.”

            “What are you thinking?”

            Shrugging smoothly, Gerard stood from the metal table and began to walk away. “It will all come together soon. In the mean time, let an old man keep his secrets.” He opened the door and turned back to his fellow conspirators, ones who had failed one too many times to be completely privy to his plan, “Very soon all of the Varulk will be dead, nothing but a memory.” Then, he walked out, standing tall.

            If they hadn’t known how serious he was, the three remaining heads of the Council would have laughed at Gerard’s need for a dramatic exit.

 

 

 

2963AD

OUTSIDE FINALK, CAPITOL OF VARULK

 

            Nrleen was showing her silvery face in the sky when they found each other standing on opposite sides of a small clearing. The trees kept their faces in shadow, but their eyes glinted under the light of the Maiden Moon.

            “Do you have it?” A woman, holding herself tense, ready for a fight.

            “Of course not,” came the sarcastic drawl of a reply. He had an attractive voice and red eyes that glittered with demonic amusement. He held out a long package, wrapped in deep red silk.

            The woman reached for it, expression hungry. At the last moment, he snatched it away again, grinning wolfishly. “Quit playing, Hale,” the woman snarled.

            His laugh was wicked, even as it caressed the ears like sticky honey. “Please, darling, call me Peter. Or perhaps Your Greatness—has a certain ring to it, no?”

            “How about I call you a conniving bastard and have done with it?” The false sweetness in her voice was enough to rot teeth.

            Peter stumbled back with a hand on his chest, “You wound me, Kate.”

            Kate smiled with an odd fever brightness. “Good,” she hissed, “It’ll make it easier to kill you later.”

            “Now, now, we’re supposed to be friends now. Of course, I could just put this sword back in its vault.”

            Kate snatched the package from his hands. “You need this as much as I do,” she spat.

            Shrugging smoothly, Peter grinned disarmingly and held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Not really,” he said, “Although this way is easier. After all, I already tried it the messy way once.” He took a step back, ready to leave.

            “You Varulk disgust me, murdering your own family. I hope you choke on your own vomit.” She also turned to go, keeping an eye on Peter warily.

            Peter laughed again. “But I’m so utterly charming,” he replied, even as he faded into the darkness.

            Even as she too melted back into the night, clutching her prize, Kate whispered, “Freak.” She knew he could hear her.

 

 

 

 

2964AD

STARCROSS SPACESTATION

 

            Derek hated Stiles Stilinski. He hated the way he seemed to always find trouble. He hated the way he ran into things while reading and talked nonstop about things no one else could really understand. Derek especially hated the way Stiles could capture him with big brown eyes from across a room. He hated the moles that dotted Stiles’ skin, that held Derek’s attention even when Stiles wasn’t around. He hated the way he couldn’t quite manage to hate anything about Stiles, at all.

            What a cliché, he thought.

            Derek was going to murder his sister when he got home.

 

            Stiles was always watching Derek. He didn’t mean to, but his eyes seemed to constantly find him wherever the Varulk was. He’d noted the tapered ears, and the frighteningly bright eyes, and always the way Derek’s collarbone jutted out sharply from under his uniform shirt when Isaac tugged on it during a sparring match.

            They’d never spoken, but Derek kept saving Stiles, and he’d been working up the courage to say something all term.

            Everyone knew Derek’s sister was Rystar, just like everyone knew Stiles’ dad was Union Chancellor. They were in the same boat, with all the awkward stares and the promises—of death and of friendship. Stiles figured they could be friends, if he ever gathered the gumption to try asking. Derek was intimidating, at the very least.

            The opportunity to talk to Derek came during martial arts instruction nearly six months into term. Erica had pinned Stiles to the mat with a forearm crushing his windpipe.

            “Erica,” he hissed, gasping for elusive air, “I can’t breathe.” Erica was by turns nice and incredibly cruel, in the same way that Stiles remembered Lydia being when she had still deigned to speak to him on a regular basis.

            Giving Stiles a vicious smiles, Erica blinked gold eyes at him. “I know,” she sang. So, today was a cruel day.

            A moment later, Derek was pulling Erica off. His expression was stormy and his red eyes were dark with suppressed fury. Stiles couldn’t help the staring.

            Sprawled on the ground, Erica attempted to meet Derek’s eyes defiantly. It was barely ten seconds before she shifted her eyes to the floor and looked slightly ashamed.

            Stiles stood carefully, and watched Derek look him over. He always did, a perfunctory injury check that left Stiles feeling safe, and slightly too warm. He blinked at Derek, and they watched each other for a few moments.

            It struck Stiles suddenly that it was incredibly strange that they’d never had a proper conversation, unless a person were to include the nods of acknowledgement, or the way their eyes sometimes met in passing.

            Derek turned away with a snarl. “You’re going to have a bruise,” he told Stiles, bit he was looking at Erica.

            “Sorry,” Erica said, looking ready to burst with anger. She stormed away, tossing her hair at Derek as she passed.

            Clearing his throat, Stiles muttered, “Thanks. For that.” He felt his stomach twist and plunge nervously.

            Barely glancing at him, Derek replied, “I think she likes you.”

            “What?” Stiles squeaked. And okay, not his proudest moment.

            Derek just shrugged, and walked away after Erica.

            So much for talking, Stiles thought.

 

 

 

            Stiles was going over notes for Extraterrestrial Biology, wondering why on Earth he’d been writing about the evolution of human religion during a lecture on Varulk’s many insects, when Scott grabbed his shoulder. He’d been about to run into a small knot of people congregated on the side of the hall. It occurred somewhere distantly that reading while walking down a crowded hall was probably not the brightest thing a person could do.

            “Did you know that in some parts of the world, humans once worshipped cows?” he told Scott.

            Scott nudged Stiles’ shoulder with his own, and simply said, “Only you.” They walked in silence for a brief moment, watching the chaos that surrounded them. The halls seemed louder today, for some reason.

            “Oh, yeah,” Scott announced, “There’s an assembly for all seventh years after last class today.”

            Glancing at his best friend, Stiles grinned, “So, they’re finally going to tell us what we’re actually doing for our final?”

            “Everyone’s bouncing off the walls, trying to figure it out. They probably won’t top last year’s tournament, though.” People melted around Scott, and Stiles followed closely behind. He continued talking as if he didn’t notice the way people still glanced at him, the half-Varulk boyfriend of the headmaster’s granddaughter. “Allison says her grandpa is really excited about it. Apparently, it took a lot to pull together.”

            When he talked about Allison, Scott’s eyes went all dreamy, the way it had been doing for months. Stiles had gotten over the urge to gag very quickly. Behind them, Stiles her Allison call out. “Speak of the devil,” he said, under his breath. He knew Scott could hear him anyways.

            Stiles actually liked Allison, and he didn’t have to work at it either. She had a sweet smile, and was incredibly kind to everyone. Only the rumors of her family’s extreme racism got under his skin, but it didn’t appear to bother Scott in the least, so Stiles let it go. Still, there was the smallest possibility of jealousy, towards both of his friends. Maybe.

            Scott tossed a “see ya” over his shoulder, and left. A moment later Stiles looked up to find Derek Hale walking next to him. He’d always wondered why the Hales used the English version of their name, when they were so clearly Varulk.

            “Hello,” Stiles said tentatively.

            Derek glanced at him. “He ignores you,” he replied, and it sounded like a question even though Derek’s voice didn’t lift at the end.

            It took a moment for Stiles to think of what to respond with. “He’s an idiot,” he decided, “but he’s my best friend.”

            “Your loyalty is astounding.” Derek’s deadpan was perfect, his expression entirely devoid of anything readable.

            Stiles laughed, then shot, “Was that a joke? Did you just actually try for a joke? With sarcasm?”

            The glare Stiles received was made all the more intense by the deep red of its origin. Stiles thought maybe Derek was fighting a smile, though. He watched the corner of Derek’s mouth subtly shift. “I don’t make jokes,” Derek told Stiles seriously, “Especially not with sarcasm.”

            “Derek!” someone shouted. Derek and Stiles both looked away from each other quickly. Stiles had almost forgotten they were walking down the hall.

            “I’ll see you later,” Derek breathed, barely audible.

            Stiles doubted that, but he watched Derek lean down to talk to Isaac Lahey and tried not to feel hopeful. It wasn’t that Stiles was in love with Derek Hale, but he had somehow managed to fall in lust pretty hard. Any other feelings were simply the product of that lust. He wondered if he could convince Derek that touching him everywhere was just a way to study Varulk biology. For science.

 

 

 

 

            Stiles wanted to dissect Derek’s brain. There was nothing else for it. He wanted to know what everything Derek did meant. He wanted to know how that brain worked and what the world looked like through those eyes. Red eyes, the mark of Varulk royalty. Part of Stiles, the oddly cool scientist part, wanted to put them in a jar. To study the genes that caused them, the way they shifted from blue to red, phasing through purple, at about sixteen.

            Too bad the cautious peace they were building meant a dissection of the Rystar’s heir was probably a less than stellar idea. Stiles was beginning to realize he had a lot of those concerning Derek.

            In his head, Stiles decided he should do it anyways. There was no other way he would ever understand why Derek kept glancing at him. Ever since they’d been assigned to the same team, he’d seemed oddly aware of every move Stiles made. Stiles wondered if Derek thought he was oblivious to the attention he’d been receiving all year.

            He was sitting on a shuttle, sat between Derek and Isaac. And they were talking about him. Stiles knew they were. They kept looking at him, surreptitiously glancing his way. If Stiles could do their freaky telepathy thing, he would totally just scream nonsense straight into their heads. As it was, he simply fidgeted.

            Being around a race of crazy intelligent, mind-reading, incredibly attractive aliens was really bad for the self-esteem.

            In the pilot’s chair, Allison gasped. It was loud in the awkward silence they’d built. Everyone looked up—except Scott, who had been blissfully asleep for the last hour, stretched across the bench across from Stiles.

            The planet of Varulk loomed in front of them, the clouds of its surrounding nebula clinging to the edges of their field of vision like cobwebs.

            Varulk was beautiful. Sure, Stiles had seen pictures and holograms, but they were nothing in comparison to seeing the whole planet laid out before you. It was slightly reminiscent of the way Stiles felt the first time he had stepped onto Earth’s surface. There was a sense of wonder in seeing real trees, and breathing air filtered by plants, instead of the metallic tang that came with space station filters.

            The stillness in their shuttle was broken when they hit the atmosphere. Shields went down over each window, an automatic reaction to the sudden heat. The blocked the planet from view, hiding the pink hue of it. Stiles glanced at Lydia, seated next to Allison, pressing buttons and barely glancing up as their destination disappeared. He wondered if she’d looked at all.

            Beside him, Stiles felt Derek go tense. He realized that the sight of the planet had relaxed Derek, and the sudden loss of the view seemed to leave the Varulk feeling bereft. Through the buzz of excitement that was building under his skin, Stiles understood. Taking a human name, attending a human school, did not make Derek human. It did not mean Derek had forsaken his home planet. Even just the sight of it before him had eased the homesickness slightly, and Derek was leaning forward in anticipation.

            The rocking of their small ship, a transport from the huge station they had all spent months aboard, stopped as abruptly as it had begun. The shields pulled back again, revealing the strange colors of Varulk’s rainforest. Deep reds and pinks flooded their vision, the occasional splash of purple or blue making their eyes dart around in an attempt to identify everything they saw. While he watched out the window, Stiles contemplated the people he was sharing this sight with, and also kicked Scott awake without looking.

            A team. They were meant to be a team. And this was StarCross’s twisted version of a final exam. Stiles was sure this topped the tournament Scott had gone on about for months after last year. Send a team into the rainforest, each with a small objective, and make them travel to a rendezvous point for extraction. Well, Stiles smiled to himself, at least they had a good team.

            Stiles was a member of Class Heila, concentrated on science and the study of other planets. He would have been top of his class, if not for his disciplinary record. But, really, the fact that they even included that incident with the escape pod was complete idiocy. It had been mostly Scott’s fault. Lydia, however, with her majestic cool, beat him there. Top of her class, head of the Student Government Coalition, and reminiscent of a beautiful, very deadly snake. She could be vicious, and at one point Stiles had adored her for it. She could probably complete all of their objectives on her own, so Stiles knew she would drag them all through this kicking and screaming if she had to. She had ambitions, and Stiles knew she wouldn’t let any of them get in her way.

            Allison, Class Silfur. A pilot who was better with a gun than anyone Stiles had ever seen. It was too bad she was human, and a girl, or they would have placed her in Class Ulfer, with the fighters. Girls, human girls anyways, were meant to be brains, not brawn. Allison just happened to have both.

            Scott was an idiot, which Stiles stated often. The very bottom of Class Ulfer, but with a vicious protective streak that would keep them all out of trouble. Part of Stiles felt bad, analyzing Scott’s strengths and weaknesses, but his Dad always said it was important to catalogue his assets.

            So far, Stiles could easily see how their little mission could work. But Derek and Isaac were wild cards. Isaac was kind, a member of Class Laera. They were almost exclusively Varulk, all brilliant. Isaac could feel the fear of a hunted animal, and read the thoughts of people around him as easily as his own. Plus, Class Laera studied medicine and healing was practically like breathing for them—which Stiles counted as a plus. He wondered if Isaac would be willing to work with him, if someone were hurt.

            Then there was Derek. He was quiet, and almost always seemed to be angry about something. Stiles still didn’t understand him, even though they’d been making occasional small talk for weeks now. It didn’t usually take Stiles so long to be able to predict someone, and it made him itch to explore Derek. In more than just the physical sense.

            It was odd how Derek always seemed to loom in corners nearby. Time after time, when Erica and Boyd had cornered him, or read a singular thought and decided to shout it out loud, Derek was there. Boyd was always cowed immediately by a glare, in the way that showed he respected Derek, and even Erica’s sarcastic quips lost their energy when Derek clenched his jaw. So, the only thing Stiles really knew about Derek was his seeming need to save seventeen year old boys from anything and everything.

            Once, a few weeks before, when Stiles had been about to walk into a locked door, Derek had grabbed his shoulder and pulled him to a stop. Scott did it all the time, and when Stiles looked up from his tablet, he had been surprised by Derek’s raised eyebrows. Still, he’d smiled and paused to watch Derek walk away.

            Derek did that, left before Stiles could say anything. It was odd, and Derek was always there the next time Stiles got himself in trouble. The number of fights on his record had gone down to practically nothing in the year Derek had been attending StarCross.

            Perhaps it meant nothing, but as they sailed over the tree tops, Stiles glanced at Derek’s small smile, and wondered why it was only him.

 

 

 

            They landed exactly at their mark. It was a large open area next to a river, with a tall waterfall creating a pool at one edge. They decided quickly that it would be best to set up camp there, at least for their first night, and they settled just outside the spray.

            For a few minutes, Stiles just stood and watched the water, flashing purple in the red light of the sun filtered through the nebula. Lydia and Allison were building their shelter nearby, which consisted of nothing more than pushing a button and watching the bunker unfold. “They’d be dead without technology,” he murmured to himself, remembering setting up and old-fashioned Kevlar tent with his dad on Earth.

            “So would you,” came Derek’s voice behind him.

            When Stiles turned he was faced with a backpack, being held in front of his face. It was an oxygen pack, with a small mask to be placed over his face. Stiles groaned, “Seriously? It’s not that bad.”

            Derek raised his eyebrows, an expression Stiles barely understood as his “Stiles you are a moron” face. He shook the pack slightly, and Stiles sighed and took it. Derek crossed his arms.  So, Varulk’s atmosphere contained 9% more oxygen than Earth. So, it often made humans feel extremely light headed and turned them silly. Stiles felt fine. Still, he pulled the pack onto his shoulders and placed the mask over his mouth, watching Derek the whole time. When he was done, Derek nodded his satisfaction, and walked away. Stiles rolled his eyes at Derek’s muscled back, took one last glance at the water, and followed.

            He caught up with Derek easily and spoke before he could decide whether it was a bad idea. “You know, I could probably assimilate myself to the atmosphere in a very small amount of time.”

            Looking at him out of the corner of his eye, Derek frowned, “It’d take the whole time we were here. And afterwards, every time you stepped on a space station you’d spend the whole time fighting to get enough oxygen.”

            “I’ve wondered about that,” Stiles mused, “I always feel just a little short of breath after spending time in your dorm.”

            Derek snorted, a smirk tugging at his mouth, and Stiles spluttered slightly, “I mean, not _your_ dorm, specifically. That would be weird. I don’t even know where your dorm is. I mean Scott. I go into Scott’s dorm. I sleep there a lot. I mean, just sleep, not like he and Allison sleep. Not that I’d object, because Scott is a very attractive male and I—you’re smiling.”

            He was, too. Derek had turned a slightly sardonic, but amused, grin on Stiles—one that Stiles was now completely sure had the ability to stop hearts and steal breath. Stiles wondered when his life had become a study in clichés.

 

 

 

            Later, the sun set and they all watched it disappear into the jungle. They had been arguing, each sure they were right, when Isaac had quietly pointed out the sunset. Derek ignored all of it, staring of into the trees like something was going to leap out at them any second. But then the sun set, and the nebula glowed subtly above them, and it was as if time suddenly stopped.

            The whole sky was streaked maroon for a matter of minutes, and Stiles held his breath at the sight.

            In the distance, a flock of birds burst into the air. Derek, who had been sticking oddly close to Stiles all evening, started.

            Everyone watched for a long time, until strange stars began to appear in the sky, and the night creatures began to wake up. Stiles found two or three constellations, completely different from the ones on Earth. Perspective was a strange thing. Lydia was the one to break the silence, in a soft voice completely different from the bitter tones she’d been since they’d met on the flight deck that morning—when she deigned to speak to them at all.

            “I’m sorry I’ve been so temperamental today.” She spoke slowly, and didn’t look at any of them. The apology seemed forced, but Stiles had been half in love with Lydia for long enough to see that actual remorse behind it.

            Allison shrugged, smiling in that way that brought out her dimples, and murmured, “It’s fine.”

            “I’m worried about Jackson,” Lydia told them, an odd admission for someone who had always hated showing vulnerability of any kind. Jackson and Lydia had been together for so long no one could remember them being apart. Jackson had always bullied Stiles, and Scott practically outright hated him. People were always making acceptions for Jackson, who had been adopted by humans when they were all kids. He didn’t fit well with humans, but he’d never been taught Varulk ways either. When they’d started school he’d immediately been cast as an outsider, and Stiles could see how it would be easy to worry about him in a group of people who didn’t like him, and didn’t want to.

            No one added anything to the conversation after that, and it was mostly quiet in the half darkness.

            “I’ll take first watch,” Derek told them.

            Isaac seemed about to protest when Scott snorted derisively. “What do we need a watch for?” he said.

            Derek’s face hardened as the second of Varulk’s six moons began to rise. “This place is dangerous. If you’d ever managed to pay attention in class, you’d know that.” He sighed when he’d finished, and turned away. Stiles almost laughed, because he knew the feeling. Scott was basically hopeless. It was a good thing Stiles was always around to help him, which he took some small satisfaction in.

            Scott seemed on the brink of starting another argument, when Stiles opened his mouth. “I’ll take it with you.” Scott looked almost appalled, before Stiles even finished with, “We can do pairs.”

            “Fine,” Derek frowned.

            Okay, so part of Stiles had definitely been hoping Derek would sound happier at the prospect of spending time alone with Stiles. And, yes, he had been motivated by the fact that maybe he would get to have an actual conversation with Derek. Stiles figured he could wheedle actual speech out of the guy, something with actual depth—maybe get some answers as to why Derek had felt the need to spend the better part of a year watching Stiles’ every step like he was a child about to fall. Instead, he ended up rambling about rainforests.

            “I mean, the humans had pretty much destroyed Earth before the war even started. They just cut down huge areas of rainforest like it was nothing. And it was so beautiful—you should see the data chips. It was a lot like here, but everything was this perfect, rich green. And there were these things called monkeys, primates that were built a lot like humans, with little tiny faces and fur. This guy called Alexander the Great, he was a king way back, he named them monkeys, apparently. On the Union Station, there’s a museum with monkey fur, and one time me and Scott broke in so we could touch it.”

            Really. He couldn’t think of anything else to say? Stiles cursed his own brain.

            When Stiles finally paused, to take a breath through his uncomfortable mask, Derek asked softly, without moving his gaze from the surrounding trees, “Is that why you want to study Varulk so badly?”

            Hissing in a deep breath, Stiles smiled. “Kind of,” he whispered, “I want to try and save something, to make sure this place doesn’t get hurt the way we hurt our own planet.” He may have sounded slightly bitter.

            Something came from Derek that could have been a laugh, “You’re as idealistic as Scott.”

            “Is that so bad?” Stiles questioned.

            This time there was a definite laugh. Derek looked at Stiles and his eyes flashed in the darkness. “No,” he smiled, “it’s not.”

            Nodding, Stiles leaned back against the rock they had been sitting next to for what felt like years. He was sleepy, and he closed his eyes to hopefully get rid of the way they were burning.

            He woke up in his bunk, wondering if Derek had carried him there.

 

 

 

            Their first full day planet side. Stiles felt that excited buzzing under his skin again. He dressed quickly, looking around to see that everyone else had apparently already vacated their tiny bunker. After he’d pulled on clothes, Stiles ripped open a metallic pouch, shoveling high protein breakfast sludge into his mouth so fast he almost choked.

            While he was eating, Derek came in, and watched Stiles with a surprised, amused expression. He barely looked angry at all, which Stiles felt oddly proud of.

            The moment he was done eating, practically moving at warp speed, Stiles began gathering supplies. He placed his tablet into his bag, slinging it across his chest, and tugged the strap of his pack until it rested on his hip. It was already full of swabs and empty packets, and anything else he thought he might need—including a pair of thick gloves made for picking up venomous creatures.

            Next, Stiles pulled an oxygen pack onto his shoulders. He mostly did it because Derek was watching him with crossed arms and an odd look that was almost concerned. It seemed to make him settle, and that lifted something in Stiles until he felt light with it. Of course, most of his brain was screaming because Derek was still watching him and there appeared to be actual emotions pulling at his expressions, which wasn’t something Stiles had gotten to see much of before. Did being on his home planet actually make him so open?

            Fumbling slightly with his mask, Stiles stepped out of the bunker, and into the already hot, heavy air outside.

            Barely two steps out the door, Stiles felt a presence just inches from his back. He glanced behind him, blinking at Derek. “What are you doing?”

            Derek shrugged easily, “I’m pretty sure if you die in the forest, we’ll fail.” Then he twisted around Stiles and started walking. “Everyone else already went out exploring, or whatever it is they’re meant to be doing.”

            “I think Allison’s just supposed to keep us on track,” Stiles pointed out.

            Humming, Derek said, “She disappeared with Scott an hour ago.”

            Stiles laughed, “Oh Stars, if one of them gets a rash because they laid down in the wrong plant I’m not going to help them.”

            They were in the trees now, and Stiles felt the need to put up at least one token protest, “I can take care of myself, you know.” He loped up to Derek’s side with only slight clumsiness, barely missing tripping over a large root.

            “Put your mask on and you’ll stop feeling dizzy,” Derek told him, without looking.

            Until that moment, Stiles had completely forgotten about the oxygen mask. He pulled it on quickly and took a deep breath. Immediately, he felt better. The slight shadows at the edge of his vision cleared, the ones he hadn’t even registered. Stiles felt more sure of his movements and he moved quickly back to Derek’s side. “I hate you,” he muttered.        

            Derek huffed a laugh.

            Stiles found himself laughing too. Derek tossed him a small, easy smile.

            As the trees swallowed them up in riots of color, Stiles calmed, returning the smile. “I’m glad you’re actually capable of expressions. This will go a long way to dissuading the robot rumors,” he declared. Nearby, a brightly colored bird fled its perch, and Stiles pulled out his tablet. He was too late to snap a picture, but next time he’d be ready.

            When he turned to look back at Derek, his face was blank again. Stiles almost felt his heart sink, until Derek said, “Expressions? What expressions? You must have imagined it.”

            Stiles snorted, but stayed silent. For a while, neither of them said anything, and they trekked through the forest without speaking. They listened to the shrieking of purple-furred primates and watched jeweled bugs skitter over fleshy leaves. Stiles took photos of everything, and stopped at one point to rub a swab over the poisonous skin of a small amphibian, with nine legs and dark blue skin.

            When Stiles paused, breathing slightly heavily from climbing over roots and the heat, Derek nearly ran into his back. “Look there,” Stiles breathed, pointing at a large fern. He was practically quivering with excitement. He stepped forward and ran a finger gently over the waxy surface of a dark purple leaf. “Zrllk,” he told Derek, his tongue stumbling over the strange word.

            “That’s the Varulk word,” Derek pointed out, obviously.

            “Yeah. I’m not sure what we call it,” Stiles shrugged. He was grinning to himself, pulling out a sample bag from his pack while he shifted his tablet out of the way. Derek took it from his hands without a word. He watched while Stiles broke of a small bit of leaf with a snap. The plant oozed red goo, like it was actually bleeding. Stiles scooped up a small bit with the leaf, and sealed it in the bag.

            “It’s a natural soother for burns,” Stiles supplied, “Like aloe on Earth.” He took a couple of quick noted on the tablet he took from Derek’s hands, and carefully put away his newest sample. “I’m supposed to catalogue at least fifteen plant species, and two of them are meant to be undiscovered.”

            “That seems difficult,” Derek supposed. He hopped over a fallen tree easily.

            Stiles shrugged, scrambling to climb clumsily after him. Derek held out a hand, in case he needed help, but put it down when Stiles looked at him. Then Stiles said, “I’ve just got to keep my eyes open. What are you supposed to do?”

            Watching the Stiles carefully, Derek responded, “Just make sure no one gets killed. And, apparently, get injured at some point so you can observe how quickly I heal.”

            Laughing, Stiles quipped, “Ah, yes. I am supposed to write a report on that.” Stiles raised his tablet to snap a picture of a bug similar to an Earth butterfly, but with hundreds of tiny tentacles floating off its body, shimmering in the dappled sunlight.

            “What is that?” Derek asked, fascinated.

            A grin broke across Stiles’ face, “A marzuk. We call it a Dandelion Fairy, after those yellow weeds on Earth.” He seemed just as enthralled as Derek.

            Reaching out a hand towards the tiny, delicate thing, Derek smiled carefully. He remembered bringing dandelions into the house for his mom. Stiles reached out and grabbed his wrist firmly, with a smack, and pulled it towards him. “Do you have any idea how poisonous those things are?” Stiles barked. It’s the first time Derek had ever seen him angry, warm brown eyes going dark and hot. It sends a thrill down Derek’s spine, one that makes him feel oddly regretful when he pulls his hand away from Stiles.

            “No,” Derek snapped, “I don’t.”

            Stiles deflated, looking vaguely confused.

            “I grew up on Earth,” Derek reminded gently.

            “Right,” Stiles hissed, “Of course. I’m an idiot.” Everyone knew Derek’s family had hid on Earth for years during the war, knew that the council had practically slaughtered most of them. They’d been learning about it in school for years.

            Derek glanced at him and shrugged, “You should have let it sting me. Then you could have written your observation thing.”

            When Stiles met his eyes his expression was tight, “No way. Marzuk stings cause excessive vomiting, and no one wants to clean that up. And I’d rather fail than purposely get you hurt. Moron.” He attempted to storm off, but stumbled over a rock. Derek fought a smile, and followed him.

            After five minutes of awkward silence, Stiles started talking again like nothing had happened. He seemed intent on educating Derek, pointing out and explaining everything around them. Derek thought he would make a good teacher.

            It was nice, watching Stiles. He was explaining a large slug-like creature that secreted a substance that could cure the common cold. Apparently, humans had been searching for that cure for hundreds of years before stumbling upon Varulk. Stiles thought it was hilarious.

            The easy way Stiles smiled at him, the same way he did Scott, hit Derek suddenly. All year he’d been watching Stiles, even when Stiles himself had been oblivious. Derek knew that at some point his duty to his sister had turned into actual protectiveness. It made him sigh resignedly, and Stiles stopped talking to look at him with something akin to concern.

            “You need to eat,” Derek stated. It was a distraction, and Stiles took it knowing it.

            They ate quickly, from the same packets they had eaten for breakfast. Derek was already missing real food, when Stiles pulled a large fruit from a nearby tree. He tossed it to Derek and picked another for himself.

            The taste, one Derek recognized, reminded Derek of a pomegranate his mother had once acquired. “Lotha,” he said, satisfied that he knew at least that.

            The soft fruit was dark purple, speckled with a bright blue that made it look diseased. Biting into his own, Stiles smiled, “Trust you to know about food.”

            “Meaning?” Derek raised a thick eyebrow carefully.

            “Dude, I’ve seen the way you eat,” Stiles tossed out carelessly, “Like the food’s going to disappear at any moment.”

            Smiling, Derek simply shot, “Dude?”

            The way Stiles blushed on top of his already warm cheeks satisfied Derek.

            “Old movies,” Stiles told him, “My mom liked them—she collected disks—and I watched them with her all the time. I picked up a lot of words from there, and people thought it was weird because we talked funny all the time. When she died I kept collecting them because…” He looked at Derek, because Stiles knew he was annoying and he really didn’t want to annoy Derek.

            “They made you feel closer to her?” Derek finished his sentence gently.

            They watched a loud bird for a moment, cleaning its violescent wings.

            “Bangarang,” Derek sighed. Stiles gave him a look, like he’d let the heat get to him, maybe. Derek laughed, “I used to say it when I was a kid. All the time.”

            Stiles laughed with him, and said, “Shit. That’s from… I’ve seen that movie. With Peter Pan?”

            “Hook,” Derek nodded, “I love movies. My sister makes fun of me endlessly for it.”

            “What’s she like?”

            Derek wasn’t surprised by the subject change. Stiles was curious by nature, and his brain latched onto new topics as quick as breathing. “She’s wickedly funny,” he started, “And she’s trying very hard to learn coldness, but she’s not very good at it. She’s capable of appearing aloof, but only for short periods of time, even when Peter tries to manipulate her into it. And she has a terrible temper.”

            “Peter?” Stiles questioned.

            Sometimes, Derek forgot that most people didn’t really know his uncle. Peter liked it that way. “My uncle. He’s Laura’s advisor.”

            “You don’t like him.”

            “I don’t trust him,” Derek corrected, but Stiles was right. “I don’t think Laura does either, but he’s all she has.”

            Standing up, Stiles shrugged and held out a hand to Derek, and told him, “My dad doesn’t trust most of his advisors either.”

            They started walking again, heading back towards their camp in an unspoken agreement. They move faster than before they ate, but alter their route slightly. They needed to get back before dark, and their lunch was rather late.

            On the edge of his hearing, Derek heard a crack. He stopped, and Stiles did too, watching him. “What—" he began, but Derek place a finger to his lips in the universal signal for quiet.

            There were noises under the sounds of the forest, approaching them rapidly. Derek moved quickly, almost ashamed to have missed the obvious signs of people moving towards them. He should have been paying more attention to his surroundings, and less to the slope of Stiles’ shoulder and the moles that trailed down the side of his neck.

            Crowding Stiles into a spot thick with foliage, Derek pressed him against the bark of a tree. “Someone’s coming,” he whispered, lips close to Stiles’ ear.

            Stiles swallowed thickly, and looked at Derek from under thick lashes. And wasn’t that just unfair.

            Even Stiles could hear the small group of people crashing through the rainforest now. Their voices became clear even as the sudden tension between himself and Derek thrummed and strengthened. Stiles wanted so badly to kiss Derek that it made the crush he’d once had for Lydia seem trivial in comparison.

            “This is stupid,” a man growled, “We should just ambush their camp and slaughter the whole lot.”

            Another voice, a middle-aged woman, by the sound, barked, “Shut up. Gerard’s niece is with them, and he doesn’t want her to see us. Besides, orders are orders, and the Captain wants the little princes for herself.”

            The third voice is quieter, but derisive, “Your captain is a bloodthirsty bitch.”

            The woman spoke again, “Yeah, well. She wants the complete set. Now be quiet and get tracking, dog.”

            They moved off quickly after that, and Derek knew the Varulk that was with them was following the trail they left that morning. They walked right past Derek and Stiles, and Derek wondered if he was tracking them badly on purpose. Stiles didn’t even dare to breathe until Derek gave him a nod.

            “They’re looking for us,” he told Derek, as if he didn’t already know. He was slightly breathless, and Derek gritted his teeth.

            “Yes,” Derek choked out. His body was humming, and he could feel the heat of Stile’s hand on his hip like it was burning his skin.

            Stiles dragged in a deep breath, and pulled off his mask, letting it fall against his chest. “You’re supposed to protect me, aren’t you?” his tone suddenly harsh, “All that crap about you coming to school as a symbol of confidence in the Union is just bullshit, right?”

            Derek looked him right in the eye and said, “For what it’s worth, I’m glad my sister sent me. Honestly, you walk into doors if no one’s there to stop you.” He was trying for joking, and apparently it worked, because the anger fled Stiles so quickly Derek thought he could see it.

            Smiling sheepishly, Stiles huffed, “I’m glad too, but mostly because my dad would murder me if I died.”

            “That makes no sense,” Derek told him. They were still standing so close that their chests were touching, barely. Derek could feel Stiles’ breath against his chin.

            Tilting his head back, Stiles’ eyes danced playfully, “Dude, I always make sense.”

            Stiles’ tablet chimed suddenly, a message, but he didn’t look. It chimed again, and he sighed. “I should probably look at that,” he said.

            Derek nodded, and stepped back.

            Stiles pulled out his tablet, looked at it for a moment, and then swore. “We have to get back.”

            “What happened?” Derek demanded. He resisted the urge to reach for the tablet.

            Pushing away from the tree, Stiles began quickly walking towards camp. Derek followed, listening. “We’re not the only ones who met people today. Allison and Scott came across a group of people Allison swears are Council members.”

            Derek swore too.

 

           

 

            They’re discussion actually went rather easy. Everyone was in agreement that they were looking for Derek and Stiles, and no one wanted to know what it was the Council would do to them if they caught them. “They want to restart the war,” Allison said blankly, “They want to kill every Varulk they can until there’s nothing left.” She sounded thick at the thought, and Derek looked at Stiles in surprise.

            Stiles smiled reassuringly, because Allison was on their side as much as she could be.

            “Do you think any other camps any other camps have been targeted,” Isaac asked.

            “It makes sense,” Lydia told him, “They’ll want to make it look like the Varulk attacked all of us, like they’ve turned on the humans.”

            “We should try and get a warning out,” Scott said, and Stiles agreed.

            Lydia bounced up, heading towards their transport, “I can do that, but if they’ve left their ships behind already, then we probably won’t reach them. Our tablets are only connected to our team.”

            “We should move camp,” Allison started, after Lydia was gone, “Try and get as far from them as possible.” She looked uncomfortable, glancing at Derek. Stiles realized that Derek had somehow become leader of their group; even Scott was looking at him for approval, if only because he was following Allison.

            “In the morning,” Derek suggested. “For now, we should all try and get some rest. While we still can. We know they won’t attack our camp, because they don’t want you to see them.”

            This made Allison look even more uncomfortable, because these were people she’d grown up seeing around her home.

            They sorted out watch, Isaac and Allison taking first to protests from Scott. They all slept in their clothes.

 

 

 

            They moved camp before sunrise. They loaded the transport silently, and took off just as the sky was starting to lighten.

            It only took a few minutes, a twenty mile hop to a meadow out of a dream, a valley with a small stream bisecting it like a silver ribbon. They chose it because it would be easy to see anyone coming in from the edges.

            Stiles was hooking up cables to the generator housed in the transport, when Scott gave a shout. He looked up to see Scott grappling with a rough looking man carrying a Varulk buzz baton. There was a large gun strapped to his back.

            It took a moment for Stiles to even register what was happening, and by then Derek was already dragging the guy off of Scott and throwing him to the ground. “Are you okay?” he said, barely glancing at Scott.

            Scott didn’t have time to answer, because there were two more people coming out of the trees to join their attacker. Stiles swore, because it was just their luck to have spurred the enemy into an attack by attempting to run.

            Their original assailant, a stocky man in his mid-fifties, stumbled to his feet and launched himself at Derek. He was met by a clawed hand to the stomach, and when he fell Derek’s hand was covered in blood.

            The sun was still barely above the tree, and Stiles decided that, given the twenty-two hour day on Varulk, he could no longer say it was too early for this.

            Already onto his next opponent, Derek received a buzz baton to the shoulder, and an ancient looking blaster was being pointed at his head. Derek slipped under the man’s guard easily, and blood spattered his skin when he grabbed the man’s throat and pulled. Stiles still hadn’t moved, watching with a sort of sick fascination. It made him feel ill, and he managed to force his eyes away.

            Allison had her bolt bow out, string pulled back until it touched her cheek. A woman ran at her, because holding a weapon made her a threat, and the woman tried to fire her gun. One of Allison’s arrows hit her before she managed to pull the trigger, and the woman hit the ground. Her muscles twitched with the electric charge from the arrow as she died.

            A hand on Stiles’ shoulder made him turn. A grinning woman stood at his shoulder, with a gun held loosely on one hand. “I didn’t bring my sword for you,” she murmured, “but if I take you now the little prince will follow.” She seemed to be talking to herself, not to Stiles.

            Derek, across the meadow, chose that moment to look at Stiles. Stiles met his eyes over the woman’s shoulder, and Derek ran towards him. Stiles twisted out of the woman’s grip, and stepped back.

            Another man fell to Allison, and Isaac was carrying a stolen sword and taking down two more. Stiles didn’t think their attackers had actually been prepared for a fight, for all they were carrying weapons. Stiles watched Derek as he came to stand next to him, tuning out everything else. He didn’t notice Scott moving towards them, or Isaac handing Lydia a gun and telling her to stay close. Derek was shoving the woman against one of the out panels of the transport and snarling, and Stiles felt a shock run through him at the sight.

            “Aw, Derek Hale. All grown up,” the woman purred.

            “Aunt Kate,” Allison shouted. She was running towards them, and Stiles spared her a glance.

            Straightening, despite Derek’s tightening grip on her throat, Kate smiled, “Hey, kiddo. Enjoying your field trip?”

            Allison skidded to a stop next to Stiles. She looked heartbroken. “You’re part of this too?”

            “Honey,” Kate sighed, “We’re all part of this.”

            Derek pulled Kate towards him, only to slam her against the outer wall of the ship again. Apparently, he didn’t take well to being ignored. Kate choked and glared at him, and Allison made an involuntary noise. By then, the others were joining them, and Stiles looked around to find that they’d actually managed to kill every one of their attackers except Kate.

            “Derek?” Stiles spoke like he was talking to a wild animal. He stepped forward and touched Derek’s shoulder gently. Kate had dropped her gun to the ground.

            “Let her go,” Scott snapped. Scott had never met Kate, but Allison looked terrified.

            Derek snarled, “No.”

            Kate laughed, and she sounded insane. “Are you going to kill me?” she taunted.

            “Yes,” Derek bit out. His eyes were flashing.

            Allison lurched forward and tugged on Derek’s arm. “You can’t!”

            Scott was yelling; Lydia was watching Kate’s face with a look that contained hatred as well as a grudging sort of respect and acceptance. Isaac seemed oddly calm, watching Derek.

            Stiles was either very brave or very stupid. He pushed Allison out of his way, gently. She gave way against his determined eyes.

            “Derek,” Stiles whispered, leaning so far into Derek’s space Scott’s eyes went wide. “She probably has information. She’s their Captain, right? We should talk to her first.”

            Seeing the sense in that, barely, Derek cocked his head slightly. Stiles ran cool fingers against Derek’s side, tracing a rib, and stepped back. He darkly said, “Besides, you can always kill her later.”

            Derek dropped Kate with a grunt, and when she collapsed to the ground she was smiling. “Tie her up,” Derek ordered, looking at Stiles.

            Even Allison couldn’t deny that necessity.

            “I need to get a message to my dad,” Stiles said. Something Kate had said stuck with him, and he tried to reason what it was as he turned and made his way onto the transport.

            “We should search our things for tracking devices,” he heard Lydia say, as the doors hissed behind him.

 

 

Stiles got his message through easily, using a password his dad had given him in case he ever got himself into trouble. He’d never used it before. He figured people trying to kidnap him and the guy he had sort of significant feelings for definitely constituted as an emergency.

            His voice shook slightly when he began, but Derek came in when he was on his second sentence. He could hear him cleaning the blood from his skin, and rooting around in his bag, and it made Stiles feel confident. It was reassuring to know that Derek was at his back. His voice steadied and he calmly recounted the events of their time on Varulk. Leaving out the part where his heart twisted when Derek pressed him against a tree, or touched him, or looked at him.

            When he finished speaking, ending with a heartfelt I love you that Stiles was determined not to be ashamed of, Stiles cut the transmission with a frown. He swung around in the captain’s chair slowly, blinking back tears Derek could probably smell. He pushed back the sentimentality, and the realization that he could very likely die before he ever got to see his dad again.

            His eyes caught on Derek, who was pulling on a clean shirt. Stiles watched muscles shift under Derek’s skin and for a moment lost track of his own thoughts. It took everything he had not to stand up and try to lick all of that glorious skin. Derek kept ruining any concentration Stiles managed to gather in his slightly panicked head. It was frustrating in the extreme.

            When Derek had pulled his shirt down, he turned around. Stiles couldn’t help but watch. Derek looked tired, and Stiles wondered how much they’d argued outside after he left. “Are you okay?” he asked softly.

            Red eyes caught Stiles’. He looked fragile when he did, and like he maybe felt as lost as Stiles did. Standing, Stiles cautiously stepped towards Derek. Derek nodded, but he looked vaguely confused.

            “Liar,” Stiles remarked. It made Derek smile, and even thought it was a touch weak, Stiles felt a small part of himself loosen at the sight. They were standing barely a foot apart, and in the air conditioned ship Stiles could feel the heat radiating off of Derek. Their eyes met and Stiles stayed perfectly still. “I was—" he cleared his throat harshly, “I think we should leave the shuttle.”

            “Because they can track its beacon,” Derek answered, like he’d been reasoning out the same thing.

            Stiles nodded, then replied with, “Yeah. Also, I think I might know what they’ve planned.”

            “Oh?” Derek asked, eyes searching.

            “Kate mentioned a sword. I think… I think they stole the Rystar’s sword,” he hesitated a moment before adding, “The Fang of Judgment or whatever you guys call it.”

            Derek looked startled at the thought, “The Fang is locked in a vault, only my family has access to it.” He thought about it for a moment, and then opened his mouth again. “Peter,” he said.

            Stiles swallowed, and then shrugged. He pretended he hadn’t been thinking that same thing for fifteen minutes, because it was enough that Allison’s family wanted him dead, and Stiles didn’t want to be the one to bring up the fact that maybe Derek’s own family wanted to kill him too.

            “Peter was the one who convinced Laura to send me,” Derek told Stiles, “he probably cut a deal with the Council.”

            “We could be jumping to conclusions,” Stiles tried, “Maybe she just stole it.”

            Derek shook his head, and then they both went quiet. Derek was thinking hard; Stiles could almost see the thoughts skating by behind Derek’s eyes.

            “You’ve killed a lot of people, haven’t you?” he asked precipitously. He hadn’t really meant to say it, but the thought had been in the back of his head since that first man had fallen by Derek’s hand.

            Taken aback, it took Derek a long minute to answer. When he spoke, it was quiet, and more than a little hesitant. “Yes. When I had to.”

            “You almost killed Kate and you didn’t have to.” Stiles’ voice was even, but sharp.

            Derek looked at him seriously as he snapped, “You’d be safer if she were dead.” He seemed surprised as soon as he said it, like it wasn’t what he’d been thinking at all. His mouth twisted into a frown, and he blinked twice in quick succession.

            Stiles laughed, because as much as he wanted to think Derek meant one thing, he knew he meant another. “Right. You have to keep me safe so the Council doesn’t start another war.”

            “That’s not what I meant,” Derek snapped.

            He sighed, suddenly exhausted, “Yes, it is.” He looked at Derek and smiled, “That’s what’s important, right? Peace.”

            When Derek deflated and Stiles could practically feel it, he remembered how close they were. He’d never seen Derek look so frustrated. He took a stumbling step back, but Derek grabbed his upper arm and pulled him closer, until he could kiss him.

            It was a hard kiss, for all Derek’s lips were soft. For a moment it felt more like an assault than anything, but Stiles pushed back anyways. He grabbed onto Derek’s shirt with one hand, tugging on the fabric. Derek’s fingers loosed on Stiles’ arm and fell away to grab onto his hip.

            Sharp canines tugged gently at Stiles’ lower lip. He opened his mouth in silent surprise at the thrill it sent through him. Then Derek slid his hand around the back of Stiles’ neck. He pressed his tongue into Stiles’ mouth at the same time that he dragged their hips together. Stiles groaned and slid both his hands up Derek’s chest to grab at his shoulders with only slight desperation.

            Chuckling into Stiles’ mouth, Derek pulled away. Stiles gave an involuntary whine, while Derek pulled the hands from his shoulders. He leaned forward slightly and looked seriously at Stiles. “No, it really isn’t.”

            “Huh?” Stiles squeaked. The Varulk, tossing the tiniest of frowns over his shoulder, simply stalked out of the cockpit and out the door with easy grace.

            Bonelessly, Stiles fell into a chair. His brain was reeling, even more than it had been all day. No. He’d said no. So, he actually… Huh. Stiles had been busy concentrating on the way he himself felt, and not paying attention to Derek.

            Actually, it explained a lot. The looming, for one. Stiles laughed to himself, because he and Derek had probably both been trying to talk to the other all year. Nothing like a life or death situation to bring people together, he thought.

            Stiles didn’t come out of the transport for a while, ordering his thoughts and trying to form some kind of plan. Despite what people seemed to think, he was not that great at plans. He was more of a make-it-up-as-you-go type of person.

            By the time he made it outside, everything was packed up and everyone was ready to move. StarCross wouldn’t be close enough to fly to for another week and a half, especially after the amount of fuel they’d already used. If Stiles’ dad didn’t get his message, it would be a long wait.

 

           

 

            Kate had her hands zip tied behind her back, and there was a large bruise purpling across her neck. She was still smiling.

            They had tied her up just inside the tree line, just out of sight of camp. Isaac guarded her while everyone else packed up, but when Stiles looked at Derek they both headed in that direction. They’d relieved Isaac of his duties, and were standing in front of Kate.

            It was unnerving, the way Kate kept grinning at Stiles, but his only other option was to look at Derek, and he wasn’t quite sure he could manage that for any extended amount of time yet. He could still feel the way Derek kissed.

            Derek was asking Kate rapid questions, but she wasn’t answering any of them. She just kept looking at Stiles, and the way his eyes avoided Derek, with that idiotic smile.

            “So, you two are sleeping together,” Kate said snidely. Her eyes never left Stiles, but somehow the question seemed to be directed at Derek. “I understand; he is an adorable thing. But does Daddy know?” She shifted her gaze to Derek.

            “Shut up,” Derek hissed.

            Kate’s smile grew as she said, “But I thought you wanted me to answer your questions. Make up your mind, Derek.”

            Finally, seeing the way Derek’s whole body seemed ready to pounce, Stiles spoke up. “You work for the council, right?”

            “That’s obvious,” Kate supplied, then leaned forward as far as she could while tied to a tree, “Tell you what, I’ll answer your questions. But for every one I answer, you have to answer one of mine.”

            Derek had already opened his mouth to refuse when Stiles spat, “Fine.” He wasn’t above playing her games to get information.

            “How long have you been giving Derek those great big eyes and resisting the urge to jump his bones?” Kate teased. Stiles wondered how anyone could possibly believe Kate Argent was sane.

            Huffing, and wondering why that question was even relevant, Stiles replied, “I haven’t. He’s kind of a dick.”

            Kate’s expression turned suddenly stormy. “Stiles, that’s what you like to be called?” She didn’t pause to wait for a reply, continuing, “If you lie to me, Stiles, then I lie to you.”

            Deciding she was probably telling the truth, and fully aware of what a horrible liar he was, Stile shrugged. He glanced at Derek, but he was glaring at the ground. “Months,” he said flippantly, like it didn’t matter, “Since practically the first time he saved my ass.” The embarrassment that colored Stiles’ cheeks made anger bubble up, because he didn’t want to let Kate see it.

            “Oh, how sweet,” Kate interjected. She was looking at Derek, who had turned to Stiles with wide eyes.

            “How’d you get your hands on the Fang?” Stiles asked, instead of deigning to respond. He refused to look at Derek, because he knew it would only fuel his blush.

            Sighing melodramatically, Kate boredly answered, “Derek’s Uncle Peter, of course. He wants to be Rystar almost as much as I want to wipe out all of the monsters on this planet.”

            The word monster jarred Stiles, his anger growing into fury, making his voice sharp and his hands shake.

            “You’re insane,” Derek told her.

            Kate ignored Derek, but it appeared to take effort. “How do you live with yourself, Stiles, lusting after a dog?”

            Without even thinking about it, Stiles slapped her. He knew she was baiting him, but he couldn’t help it. “He is more human than you will ever be, you psychopath,” he told her.

            “Final answer?” Kate drawled. She wasn’t smiling anymore, at the very least.

            Stiles nodded, and then asked, quietly, “You’re the one who killed Derek’s family, aren’t you? On Earth?”

            Kate laughed, “Very good! Although, let me tell you, Peter was a great help there too.”

            He wanted to hit her again, but instead Stiles just nodded once, and then turned and walked away. Kate had already confirmed what they thought they knew, and what had been bothering Stiles since Derek had his throat around Kate’s neck. Derek followed him out of the trees, and Stiles glanced at him.

            “How’d you know?” Derek asked.

            Stiles shrugged, “I guessed. Peter, though, that was a surprise.”

            “Not to me,” Derek muttered, remembering the way his uncle had stood outside of their burning house and watched Laura and Derek in shock. They really had been supposed to die that night. Derek wondered how long the war would have continued if Laura hadn’t dragged him outside that night.

            Isaac passed them, nodding grimly, and Stiles stepped onto the bottom of the ship’s ramp. “We probably could have gotten more from her.”

            “We got enough,” Derek told him. He watched Stiles briefly, and opened his mouth to speak, but then just shook his head.

            “Hey,” Lydia called, from where the door had been left open, “We’ve got something to show you.”

            Stiles hopped up the ramp and Derek came right behind him. Inside, Scott was sleeping in the copilot’s chair, but Allison and Lydia were sitting on a bench. Allison held a necklace up when they came in. She was crying.

            “It’s a tracking device,” she sniffed, glancing at the pendant, “Kate gave it to me for my birthday, months ago.”

            Gently, Stiles took the necklace. The large, round medallion had been pried open at the side, revealing a tiny nuclear battery and a steady blue light. “Shit, Allison,” he muttered.

            Derek kicked Scott lightly in the shin, and when he woke with a snort Derek ordered, “Go hug your girlfriend.” Stiles almost laughed.

            “We can use that!” Stiles felt an idea forming, and he looked at Lydia. If anyone would understand what he was thinking, it was her.

            “I was thinking the same thing,” Lydia said guiltily, “We can use it as an extraction beacon.”       

            “Amplify it using the shuttle’s computer,” Stiles added. He sat down in the captain’s chair, and Lydia rushed to join him, leaning over his shoulder.

            It took practically nothing, and when they were finished, Stiles rapidly typed a message to his dad, informing him to find their beacon and that they would stay near it.

 

           

 

            They moved their camp about three miles into the trees. Allison spent the whole walk ignoring her aunt and fighting tears. Scott held her hand, and glared at Derek. It made Stiles snort contemptuously at his best friend. As if it was Derek’s fault the Argent’s were apparently insane.

            Isaac led Kate at the back, while Derek and Stiles walked side by side at the front, as from her chatter as they could get. “They’re like a disease, aren’t they?” she babbled.

            Everyone ignored her, but they were all tense. Especially Lydia, who was playing with the bracelet she wore. A rare thing, with red moonstones.

            “Did Jackson give that to you?” Stiles asked her gently. They’d just stopped, so Derek could investigate a small hollow, and she was twisting the silver chain around her wrist anxiously.

            “It was his grandmother’s,” Lydia sounded like her heart was breaking when she said it.

            Stiles smiled, “You really love him, huh?”

            Lydia nodded, and then bit her lip. The show of weakness was new, unusual for Lydia. It shook Stiles, the vulnerability that was a show of real trust. “I hope he’s okay,” she whispered.

            “He is,” Stiles told her seriously.

            She didn’t really look like she believed him, but she still smiled a little.

            “We’re going to stay here,” Derek announced, “It’s a good defensive position, if it comes to that. This is the only way into the hollow.”

            The sun was already setting. “Who’s on first watch?” Isaac asked.

            “Can you and Lydia handle it?” Derek was looking at Lydia.

            Striking her fingers across her bottom lash line, Lydia nodded determinedly. Isaac took the question like an order.

            “We can take third,” Derek murmured to Stiles, coming to stand in front of him with quiet footsteps. “Allison and Scott on second,” he told them both, as they walked past him. Allison smiled at him gratefully.

            “You’re letting them take it together?” Stiles breathed.

            Derek nodded and sighed at him, “They’ll be fine. They know there’s actual danger out there.”

            As the sun disappeared they bunkered down in a circle around Kate. The last thing Stiles remembered was Derek settling warmly beside him and clutching his tablet to his chest.

 

 

 

            Stiles woke when his tablet gave a tinny chirp. He blinked his eyes open and fumbled it up to his face. He was laying half on top of Derek, having fallen asleep leaning against a tree root next to him. Derek was awake, but his eyes were hazy with sleep. “Message?” he breathed.

            Looking at the screen, Stiles nodded. He opened the message to see a random scramble of letters. Stiles wasn’t sure how his dad had managed to get a message to his tablet, but he wasn’t about to question it. He grinned, “It’s my dad. He encoded it…” He chuckled breathily, “Cryptography games.”

            “What?” Derek asked.

            Stiles looked at him, “My mom and I played them when I was a kid. If I just cut out every other letter,” Stiles tapped the screen as he spoke, “then use Mom’s name as a base, sill in the rest of the alphabet, unscramble… Voila.”

            Derek looked at the glowing screen with his chin on Stiles’ shoulder. “Extraction at 0700. Be careful,” he read, then, “What time is it?”

            “Half past four,” Stiles told him, and then sat up suddenly. “Allison and Scott should have woken us up by now.”

            They shared a look, and then they were up and moving. In a moment, they could see that Kate was missing from the center of their circle. Scott and Allison were asleep next to the entrance of their little hollow, their disheveled clothes a testament to what they had been doing before they fell asleep. They were curled up together between two roots, where Lydia and Isaac had been when Stiles had gone to sit next to Derek.

            “Scott!” Derek barked.

            Everyone was up instantly, too wary to sleep deeply anyways. “Kate’s gone,” Stiles snapped, glaring at Scott.

            Scott looked horrified, “We fell asleep.”

            “That’s pretty fucking obvious,” Derek bit out, gesturing at them.

            Even Lydia looked angry. “Allison,” she started, and then closed her mouth.

            “Good news is, we have extraction at 0700,” Stiles declared, “So we might manage to get out of here before Kate brings the cavalry, murders us, and starts a war.” He closed his eyes for a moment in an attempt to center himself.

            “Yay,” Isaac groaned.

            Derek slumped, shook his head at Scott and Allison, and said offhandedly, “I should’ve killed her when I had the chance.”

            “You’re sick in the head,” Scott growled, standing up, “if you think any of us would have let you murder Allison’s aunt in front of her.”

            Derek started to say something, but Stiles held up a hand, “Enough! We need to get ready to go.”

            “Besides,” Allison added, “We’d all be a lot better off right now if she were dead.”

            Scott looked shocked by that statement, but Allison just shrugged.

            “Eliminate anything you can’t run with,” Derek told all of them, walking to where he’d left his pack.

            “We should split up,” Lydia suggested, “It’ll be easier to slip past them, if they’re guarding the meadow.”

            Allison seemed like she might object, and Scott was giving Stiles a look that said he’d better agree with her when she did. Instead, he nodded, “That makes sense.”

            “You and Derek should go together, then” Allison told Stiles.

            “My thoughts exactly,” Stiles smiled at her wanly.

            Isaac was shaking his head while Scott objected loudly, “If they all come down on you guys, you’re both dead.”

            “We should all go together, that way we can guard you,” Isaac added.

            Stiles shook his head, “Kate wants us for herself. So, even if one of them catches us, they’ll just want to drag us to her.”

            “Right,” Lydia spoke up, her words calculating and slow, “Because she wants to kill you in a way that’s obvious.”

            “Yes,” Derek huffed reluctantly, “She has a sword that she wants to use.”

            Lydia nodded, because she understood, “I’ll go with Isaac, then.”

            “Isaac?” Stiles murmured. Isaac looked at him, clearly frustrated. “I need you to watch out for Lydia. Please.”

            “I can watch out for myself,” she snapped. She was playing with her bracelet nervously again.

            Stiles grinned at her, felling oddly carefree given their current situation. “I believe you,” he drawled, “but just in case. The world can’t afford to live without your genius.”

            “Plus,” Scott added resignedly,” Jackson’s way nicer when you’re around.”

            Lydia flipped her hair and rolled her eyes, the picture of unaffected confidence, “Well, when you put it like that.”

            They all laughed then, before scattering to gather their things. “30 minutes,” Derek said.

            Stiles grabbed his sample bag and tablet, and then faced Derek. “Ready to move out, Sir,” he chirped, giving a salute. Nearby, Isaac chuckled at his antics.

            “You’re not taking that,” Derek pointed at the satchel resting on Stiles’ hip. He hadn’t said anything when Stiles abandoned his oxygen pack, although the others were still carrying theirs, but he’d looked at the bag when they left the shuttle behind with the same expression he was now wearing.

            Pouting, Stiles whined, “But I barely got any samples. I have to at least bring back these ones.”

            “No,” Derek commanded, “They’ll slow you down, and then someone will take you away from me.” He clapped his mouth shut immediately after he said it, and didn’t meet Stiles’ eyes. He bent down and picked up the tiny pack he’d been carrying, and the blaster he’d taken from one of the dead bodies lying back in the meadow.

            “You’re an idiot,” Stiles sighed, but he took the bag off his shoulder and dropped it on the ground. Now, all he had was the slim pack for his tablet, which he placed securely on his back. He stepped up close to Derek and grinned, “If you’re going to make me leave them behind—which by the way is ludicrous but I am doing it anyways—I’d better at least get a kiss out of the deal.”

            They hadn’t talked about it yet, the kissing, and Stiles fidgeted slightly after he finished. He looked at Derek imploringly, his grin sliding away,

            “Stiles,” Derek warned. He sounded fond, and Stiles could see the way he was fighting a smile, even in the dark.

            “Please?” Stiles whispered.

            Derek kissed him. It was gentle and slow and barely lasted five seconds. It still left Stiles feeling dizzy. Or maybe that was the oxygen in his blood. “For luck,” Derek said. Stiles could feel the words against his lips.

            “Time to go!” he called. He didn’t move though, deep red eyes searching Stiles’. He repeated himself in the barest whisper, and Stiles nodded.

            They left the hollow two at a time, in fifteen minute intervals. Derek and Stiles went last.

            Part of Stiles had been hoping that Scott would push to go with him, even if they were staying in pairs. Derek noticed the slight disappointment when Scott slipped away without even looking at Stiles. Carefully, he stepped forward until Stiles’ back was against his chest. Stiles leaned back into him, tension bleeding out of his shoulders. Derek pretended it didn’t make him ooze satisfaction and ran a hand down Stiles’ forearm.

            Isaac and Lydia went second, smiling shyly at each other as they went. Derek had to smile at that, the way a bond was building between their group. Isaac had practically ignored every human at StarCross, and now he was leading Lydia out with a helping hand.

            When it was their turn, Derek stepped back and removed a large knife from a holster strapped to his thigh. He pressed it into Stiles’ hand. “Just in case,” he told him.

            Stiles nodded, and then they were moving.

            They went slowly through the trees, sticking to the deepest shadows and pausing often to listen. There were people in the woods. Derek could hear them moving, but he made sure to steer Stiles clear of them. He was crowded against Stiles’ back, one hand brushing his lower spine occasionally.

            When two people converged too closely to them, Derek pushed Stiles deep into the foliage until they’d both passed them by. Stiles squeezed Derek’s knife in his hand, but no one came close enough for him to need it.

            They circled the edge of a small clearing, and Stiles could see that the sky was beginning to lighten at the very edge of the sky. There was a man standing in the center of the clearing, and Stiles locked eyes with him. He came at them, but Derek moved to quickly for him, raking his nails across the man’s throat efficiently.

            Stiles saw the blood on Derek’s cheek when he turned to look at him. The man gurgled on the ground as he died, but Derek just pushed Stiles back into the trees.

            After that, there were more of them. Derek walked in front of Stiles, and took down three more of them easily, when they couldn’t get past.

            The trees were thinning out, and there were fewer places to hide. In the distance, Stiles could here shots fired, and weapons clashing. The others were dealing with more of the same then. “If I tell you to run, I need you to get to the shuttle and lock yourself inside, if they aren’t here yet.”

            Stiles just nodded, and kept moving.

            Five more deaths later, Stiles stopped counting.

            When they were almost at the edge of the trees, Derek pulled him back. His hands were slick with blood, and Stiles swallowed audibly.

            There was a gunshot, a loud crack from behind them, and Derek stumbled. He grabbed his shoulder in shock, looking at Stiles.

            “Derek!” Stiles said, too loud. For the first time, he heard voices around them, shouting in the distance.

            Derek shoved Stiles towards the meadow and turned around. Stiles started to run, but he tripped. His knees were quaking so badly he wasn’t sure he could stand up again. _Run_ , Derek ordered, and Stiles realized that the voice was actually in his head. It surprised him, even though he knew telepathy was a common ability among the Varulk.

            A circle tightened around Derek. Three men, brandishing weapons with an odd sort of bravado, closed in on the snarling Varulk. Stiles clawed his way to his feet and lurched towards the knot. He’d cut his palm on the knife he’d been carrying, and it burned white hot.

            One of the men saw him, and grinned. He raised a gun at Stiles, keeping another pointed at Derek. Dividing his attention between both of them cost him his life. Derek shoved a hand into the man’s back with a horrible, wet sound. Stiles watched claws rip through the front of the man’s shirt. Not even video files of gore and filth from the war prepared Stiles for that sight. He felt blood fly all the way to hit his own face, tasted it when he hissed a breath in.

            Blood bubbled from the man’s lips as Derek pulled his hand out with a loud squelch. Fighting the urge to vomit, while the man fell to the ground, Stiles stumbled towards Derek. He hadn’t seen the other two men go down, but they were both out as well. Stiles thought one of them was missing an eye.

            Eyes glowing brightly under multitudes of stars, peaking through the branches at them, Derek grabbed Stiles’ hand. His skin has so slick with blood that Stiles had a hard time holding on. There were more people moving their way, the forest thick with them now. As soon as he had a good grip on Stiles’ hand, Derek dragged him into a run.

            Just at the edge of the trees, they found a hollow between two massive roots. Their transport was only about thirty yards away. Peeking out from their hiding spot, Derek and Stiles could see that the others had already made it. They were hovering in the open doorway, fighting off anyone who came too close, but the ship was completely powered down.

            Pointing to an open panel on the side of the ship, Stiles frowned, “They took the power couplings.”

            Derek swore; he’d been hoping they could move, and set up a new rendezvous point if they had to.

            “There’s too many of them,” Stiles stuttered out, “There’s no way we can hold them off.” He looked to where Scott was wrestling with a man who was holding a knife.

            Another curse fell from Derek’s lips, and he wondered if they could make it to their friends without dying first. They were barely holding their own.

            “You’re right, Stiles.”

            Spinning awkwardly in his crouch, Stiles fell against damp bark, smooth and peeling from its tree to reveal fibrous red wood. Of course, Kate had managed to find them. It was just how their luck went.

            Kate smiled in a vicious way not even the Varulk could manage when she sang, “Did you miss me?”

            She was holding a curved sword loosely in one hand, and Stiles recognized the Fang of Judgment from the pictures he’d seen. It was a heavy sword, meant specifically as a tool of execution. Kate adjusted the blade in her hand, bouncing it into a lazy twirl.

            Derek glanced at Stiles, who gave a tiny nod. Death by the Fang was painful. The metal would react with the iron in human blood. It made it bubble and burn, turning it to acid that would burn at the skin it touched. It didn’t have the same reaction to Varulk blood, but Stiles figured that Kate could always blame any wounds she gave Derek on the large knife in Stiles’ hand, if she had the inclination.

            Kate came at them suddenly, turning to Stiles and swinging the sword up. “First, I’ll kill your little boyfriend,” she explained to Derek, “but I want to take my time with you.”

            The threat made Derek narrow his eyes. As Kate swung the sword Stiles cowered slightly, because there was nowhere to go. Derek just grabbed the swinging blade. It was beautifully made, but the sword was incredibly old. The edge was slightly dull, especially after being used on so many necks in the last hundred years. It still cut into Derek’s hand deeply, but he managed to keep his fingers, at the very least.

            Derek shoved the blade away with a grunt of pain. Kate lurched backwards, but before Derek could stand fully to go after her, she swayed forward for another swing of her borrowed blade.

            The half healed bullet wound in Derek’s shoulder, accompanied by another number of cuts he’d received throughout the night, meant he was moving just that tiny bit more slowly. He was almost on human levels. The sword caught him across the chest, a shallow slash that had him reeling backwards.

            “Wait your turn,” Kate demanded. She looked completely mad, manic energy making her twitch.

            Derek looked at Stiles and whispered, “Run.” His wound was already healing, but combined with the bullet wound, it was slower than it should have been. Stiles felt something in him break, like a dam pushed too far. He jumped to his feet easily. The knife he’d had a death grip on since leaving camp became loose in his hand. Some part of him remembered learning knife combat in school, when they’d all still thought they’d end up soldiers one day. He held it just the way he’d been taught in multitudes of combat classes.

            Kate gave another insane smile, dead eyes sparking suddenly with glee. She raised the Fang in two hands. She was going for decapitation, the preferred style of Varulk executions.

            Stiles was faster. He crouched down and slipped under the horizontal arc of the sword, and plunged his knife into skin at an upward angle. It caught on Kate’s lowest rib, but Stiles just shoved harder, and it skipped on it. He felt it give, felt the blood pouring down his already sticky hand.

            He felt oddly passive, separated from himself.

            The sword clattered against the rocks. Stiles met Kate’s eyes coldly, watching her expression turn to shock, and then go slack. When she fell, he let the knife go with her. Stiles started to fall too, but Derek caught him.

            There was a sound all around him, like engines rumbling. Stiles felt like the whole world was shaking apart. Derek’s arms were wrapped around Stiles’ torso, and Derek was shouting in his ear. They were both covered in blood by now, and Stiles realized he was crying.

            “Stiles,” Derek yelled, “Stiles, they’re here.” Despite his obvious relief, Derek seemed worried when Sties stood up on his own and turned to look at him. He touched Stiles’ cheek with shaking fingers.

            Offering a small smile, Stiles let Derek pull him away from the body sprawled on the ground. Derek stopped to pick up the sword, and then they left the trees. Lydia waved from where a group of men were leading their team away from their own tiny shuttle, and towards the rather large one that was hovering above them. They waved back, but still clutched at each other as walked.

            Five men surrounded them, carrying guns and looking out towards the trees warily. All of their attackers seemed to have disappeared back into the shadows, and if there were any shots being fired, they couldn’t hear them over the engines.

            Everyone was there. They were all exhausted. Lydia had a scratch on her cheek, but looked mostly unharmed. The rest of them seemed completely unscathed.

            It was odd, but even as they were being told to board the hovering ship, they fell on each other with laughter and hugs.

            They had to jump onto the ramp, and when they got inside there was a med-bay set aside for them. It was just inside the door, and they all collapsed onto beds when they saw them. A doctor bustled around them, bandaging cuts, but none of them spoke until he was finished.

            Only then, did Stiles look at Allison. She was staring at the sword that Derek had laid on one of the beds, but she looked up like she’d been waiting for Stiles to say something. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. It was all he could think to say.

            Allison didn’t even cry. She just nodded.

            Stiles looked away, watching a bruise on Derek’s cheek fade into nothingness in seconds.

            Soon after, they were lead out, and down a corridor. At the end was a small room, with six doors leading out of it. The man who had brought them there smiled, “You can all get some rest here, until we reach the Station.”

            No one said anything. They all silently headed towards doors, Allison and Scott going to the same one wordlessly. After a moment of hesitation, Stiles followed Derek to the closest door. Just before they entered, Lydia turned to their guide. “What about the other students?”

            “The Rystar brought them all into the palace, as soon as she heard of the attacks. I am sorry to say that Peter Hale has been arrested in connection with them.” The man turned and left without another word. He didn’t sound particularly sorry.

            Derek laughed suddenly, and Stiles looked at him, “Well, I guess we don’t have to go convincing them of that.”

            After that, they all went into their rooms.

            As soon as they were inside, Derek turned to look at Stiles. He trailed his fingers up the inside of Stiles’ wrist, and brushed the bandage wrapped around his palm. They were both still covered in blood that was cracking and flaking away with every movement. Stiles smiled and Derek looked relieved.

            “What?” Stiles asked him.

            “I didn’t want to sleep alone,” Derek mumbled.

            Stiles didn’t reply, just dragged Derek towards the tiny shower stall.

            Pausing, Derek looked at him, “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

            “No,” Stiles told him, “But I’d like to confirm that you’re actually fine under all the blood.”

            They undressed in slightly embarrassed silence, barely looking at each other. When Derek looked up, it was only to notice the scratches on Stiles’ forearm. The bruising on his back. The scrapes on his knees. He hated the way Stiles moved—gingerly, and without his usual quick grace.

            Stiles turned the water on too hot. They fumbled under the spray regardless. Their silence was comfortable, hands running over each other’s skin and rusty blood washing down the drain.

            Seemingly out of nowhere, Stiles said, “I’m sorry I took away your revenge.”

            Derek knew what he meant. He grabbed Stiles by the shoulder and looked him in the eye for a moment. “Don’t say that,” he hissed, “I’d rather have her alive than have to see the look on your face after she… I didn’t want that.”

            They kissed furiously then. Stiles was starting to get that Derek used physical affection when he thought words wouldn’t cover what he was trying to say. Stiles thought it was a Varulk thing, and decided that was probably why most of the humans at StarCross avoided Derek. Stiles reveled in it, in the physical reassurance and the unspoken comfort.

            Stiles let Derek crowd him against the wall, pressing their slick bodies together. He dragged his thumbs across Derek’s hipbones and felt Derek shudder against him.

            When they had to pause for breath, they stayed close, leaving them panting against each other’s mouths. They were almost the same height, Stiles just an inch shorter. It was hard to believe—Derek always seemed so tall. “We shouldn’t do this right now,” Derek mumbled, because they were riding the last dregs of adrenaline, and neither of them was thinking clearly other than to know they’d survived.

            “I want to,” Stiles leaned forward and dragged his lips across Derek’s jaw, stubble scratching at his slightly chapped lips. He pressed kisses down the side of Derek’s neck, and Derek hissed.

            “We shouldn’t,” Derek insisted, slightly breathless.

            When Stiles pulled his teeth across Derek’s shoulder, Derek practically whimpered. His sharp fingernails scrabbled against the wall near Stiles’ shoulders.

            Pulling back, Stiles looked at Derek with big eyes, “Please?” He let his fingertips glide across Derek’s skin, repeating himself.

           

            Derek looked him in the eye and dragged Stiles’ face in with both hands. He kissed him gently, almost reverently. “Damn your eyes,” he told him, “I’d do anything when you look at me like that.”

            They stayed under the water for a few more minutes, kissing heatedly. There was a steady build between them, but the adrenaline wore of suddenly and they were both consumed utterly by bone deep exhaustion. The warmth of the water faded, and Derek blinked sleepily, “Bed.”

            Just the thought made Stiles’ eyelids droop, but he still attempted a lascivious smile. Derek laughed, and pulled him from the shower. Stiles gave in, because he was half asleep already.

            They didn’t even bother drying off. They just turned off the water and tumbled into the single bunk. Stiles curled into Derek’s side and Derek pulled the blankets over both of them, and then they were asleep.

 

           

 

            Stiles woke up when the lights in their quarters brightened suddenly. Apparently, it was time to get up. Stiles groaned and buried his face in Derek’s neck. “What the hell,” he grumbled, lips moving against warm skin.

            Because he was a jerk, Derek snickered. “It’s morning on Earth,” he provided needlessly.

            All Union vessels ran on Earth time. For a while, neither of them moved. They were warm and comfortable.

            “How did your mom die?” Derek asked suddenly, and then winced.

            Sitting up slightly, Stiles cleared his throat. “She, uh,” he began, “She was a doctor. She got caught helping both sides, and the Council… You know.” He trailed off, watching Derek.

            Derek nodded, “I think I met her once.”

            “She was a good person,” Stiles whispered. He was almost ashamed of the fact, like he wasn’t good enough to belong to her.

            “So are you,” Derek murmured, pressing a kiss to Stiles’ forehead. He was almost scared of how easy it was.

            Clearing his throat again, Stiles smiled. “I’ve heard stories, you know. About your family.”

            “They locked the doors and burnt the house to the ground.” Derek closed his eyes when he said it.

            Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek tightly, and squeezed. “The Council has a lot to answer for.” The righteous anger in his voice made Derek’s stomach bottom out, because Stiles was feeling it for him.

            “Hey,” Stiles exclaimed, tone turning to teasing, “Do you think we failed?”

            Derek laughed. It seemed such a small concern at that point. “Probably. You’ll never be able to get a job on a Union ship, after this.” His tone was equally lighthearted.

            “Well, I guess I’ll just have to find work on Varulk.”

            It seemed like such an offhand comment, but Derek froze. His heart beat seemed to stutter when he met Stiles’ eyes. They were calmly serious. “Yeah?” he pressed, sliding his palm down Stiles’ spine.

            Stiles shrugged, “Yeah.” He kissed Derek gently and Derek gripped the back of his neck slightly too hard. He touched Stiles’ hip with his finger tips and Stiles’ pulled back with a wicked smile.

            Derek knew Stiles was about to say something and it probably would have been extremely witty. Derek probably would have even laughed. He didn’t let Stiles speak though, instead pulling him into another kiss.

            By the time Derek pulled away again they were both breathing heavily and Stiles was grinning. “We’re going to be at the Station soon.”

            Humming, Derek smiled, “That’s good. I think I need to talk to your dad.”

            “Why? Thinking of proposing we unite our two families in marriage?” Stiles joked.

            “I dunno,” Derek deadpanned, “Have you got any siblings?”

            Stiles laughed and kissed Derek again. He pressed himself into Derek from hip to shoulder. Derek had been mostly ignoring the fact that they were both naked, but Stiles’ skin sliding against his own brought the fact the forefront. Stiles was gripping his upper arms tightly, and Derek grabbed his waist so he could flip them over.

            Dragging his teeth against Stiles’ lower lip, Derek’s sharp canines pressed into the plush sharply. Stiles opened his mouth in a sharp exhalation, and Derek licked his bottom lip slowly.

            “Son of a bitch,” Stiles hissed, dragging his fingers across Derek’s biceps, and then gripping one of his shoulders tightly.

            Laughing, Derek pressed his face into Stiles’ neck and breathed deeply through his nose. “I want you,” he told Stiles, pressing his hips down decisively.

            A shiver ran through Stiles and he pulled on Derek until he could look at him. He thought about making a quip, about how Derek wanted to talk to his dad, but instead just said, “Then take me.” He grinned, because he knew how clichéd it was, like a bad romance novel.

            They were staring at each other, noses almost touching. The tension was almost unbearable, pulling at Derek as he swayed forward and brushed his lips against Stiles’. Stiles followed him when he retreated, and it made Derek kiss him again. “We should get up. We’ll be there soon.” Derek was attempting to reason, but he couldn’t help but kiss Stiles again before he could reply.

            “Don’t care,” he retorted, pulling Derek into a harder kiss.

            Derek had a moment of indecisiveness, with Stiles kissing him. There were a thousand reasons not to have sex with Stiles in that moment, and a thousand more why they shouldn’t have been involved at all. Up until that point, Derek had been ignoring them. Stiles pressed his tongue against Derek’s lips. All those reasons seemed incredibly arbitrary. Derek went back to ignoring them.

            Pressing Stiles forcefully into the mattress, Derek kissed him back roughly. He pulled Stiles’ tongue into his mouth and sucked on it. He slid his hands around Stiles hips and pulled them together. Stiles yelped, and then groaned into Derek’s mouth.

            They pulled apart with a snap. Stiles’ lips were red and slightly swollen. It sent a thrill of lust through Derek’s gut that left him scrambling.

            “Stiles,” he breathed. He felt Stiles shiver underneath him and rolled his hips down. He fought back a moan and watched Stiles’ eyelids flutter below him.

            “We need—” Stiles managed, pressing a kiss to Derek’s jaw.

            Derek nodded and pulled away. He stood up and searched the tiny room half frantically, until he found a drawer containing soap and condoms and lube, among other things. Convenient.

            As Derek climbed back on top of Stiles, he grinned, brown eyes dancing, “Let it never be said the Union doesn’t take care of us.”

            Laughter filled their room, and Derek gave Stiles a bruising kiss that quickly turned into a tangle of tongues and heavy breathing. Their hands roamed insatiably and Derek whimpered when Stiles dragged his nails across Derek’s thundering pulse. Stiles grinned and pulled back to do the same with his teeth.

            A hiss escaped Derek when Stiles pulled him back slightly by the hair. Stiles bit the sensitive skin below Derek’s jaw and then spoke with his lips against Derek’s ear. “Do you like that? The hair pulling?”          

            Derek blinked unfocused eyes and hummed, “I don’t know. Do it again.”

            Stiles did as he was told, dragging Derek to the side so he could suck a bruise into existence just above Derek’s collarbone. Derek scratched at Stiles’ soft side and thought the blood might boil out of his veins. Later, when Stiles teased him about the keening moan that cracked from his throat then, Derek would pretend that he couldn’t remember anything about it.

            Extracting himself from Stiles with ragged breath, Derek placed a kiss on Stiles’ shoulder. He moved down his chest, tugging at a nipple with his teeth.

            Groaning, Stiles placed his arm over his face. He threaded the fingers of his other hand into Derek’s hair. “Don’t do that,” Derek ordered, dragging Stiles arm away from his face, “I want to look at you.”

            Stiles hiccupped a breath, and whined, “Oh my stars, Derek, you can’t just say things like that.”

            Trailing kisses across Stiles’ ribs Derek teased, “Why not?”

            Stiles laughed sharply, and Derek smiled to himself, placing a kiss next to Stiles’ belly button. He nuzzled the trail of dark hair below it, and told Stiles he was beautiful with his lips touching skin.

            “Who knew you’d be the sappy one.” Stiles’ cheeks were flushed, and the red was seeping down his chest.

            Derek smiled at him, and Stiles smiled back. It was a reassurance, an act of solidarity. “I think I love you,” Stiles choked, and then looked thoroughly self-conscious at the admission.

            Clearing his throat, and attempting to look serious, Derek moved so he could hover over Stiles and deadpanned, “I don’t care, as long as you stay in my bed.”

            Stiles swatted Derek’s shoulder gently, and replied, “Oh just fuck me, already.”

            Giddy with happiness, and laughing, Derek picked up the lube and dropped in on Stiles’ chest. Holding up his hand, and looking at his clawed fingers, Derek raised his eyebrows.

            “Right,” Stiles chuckled, “I guess I should do that part myself. Man, you need a manicure.”

            He picked up the lube and popped the top open, coating his own fingers in it. Derek slid back down his body, and Stiles spread his legs, lifted his hips slightly. Derek watched him press a finger slowly into himself and kissed Stiles’ ankle.

            Stiles made a show of it, moaning and bucking his hips. Derek watched in utter fascination, and wondered if Stiles would do this for him every day, for the rest of forever. When Stiles was pumping three fingers in and out of himself easily, Derek moved so fast he accidentally scratched Stiles’ thigh. He almost apologized, but it made Stiles gasp and his pupils blew out even more than they already were. Deciding that was something to explore for later, Derek kissed Stiles meticulously.

            “Please,” Stiles told him, the word seemingly wrenched from his mouth. “I want you,” he echoed, eyes squeezed shut as he pulled his fingers out.

            “You already have me,” Derek told him, and he really was the sappy one.

            When Derek pressed into Stiles it was with minute speed. Stiles winced, but his hands grabbed at Derek’s sides and attempted to pull him closer. Derek maintained the same speed until his chest was pressed fully against Stiles’. Precome smeared over Stiles’ belly and Derek swallowed both of their moans in a searing kiss.

            He pulled away to Stiles babbling, “Move, Derek, or I will murder you. Jupiter’s moons, you’re so incredible. I need you to—oh fuck.” Derek pulled all the way out and slammed back in again, before settling into a steady pace.

            He snapped his hips against Stiles’ and looked down at him with hungry eyes.

            “Holy Hell,” Stiles groaned, arching his neck.

            Derek was hardly going to deny the invitation. He latched into the pale skin of Stiles’ throat and trailed his tongue across the mole there.

            It seemed it was only a moment before Derek felt his control slipping. He tried to kiss Stiles, but they were both so far gone that they ended up just breathing each other’s air.

            Stiles began babbling nonsense, eyes squeezed tightly shut. Reaching down, Derek pumped Stiles hard, trying to keep it in time with his thrusts. Stiles dragged blunt nails down Derek’s back and the grabbed his shoulders for leverage. He pushed back against Derek wildly.

            Derek came first, his vision going white hot as he managed to deliver a sloppy kiss to Stiles’ bitten lips.

            By the time Derek remembered his name, Stiles was coming in hot streaks the coated both their stomachs.

            Bringing up his sticky hand, Derek cleaned it with his tongue. Stiles watched with a whine, his eyes already hot again. When Derek finished, pulling his tongue back into his mouth, Stiles decreed, “Never do that again, or I’ll have a heart attack.”

            With a smirk, Derek slid down the bed. He laved his tongue across Stiles’ over sensitized skin, and Stiles positively mewled as Derek cleaned the come off his pale skin. “Stop it, I’m going to die,” Stiles choked, but his eyes didn’t leave Derek. Derek breathed a laugh, and trailed his fingers across Stiles’ stomach.

            The door gave a ding and they both turned to look at it. Derek climbed off the bed and pressed the button under the intercom. “Yes?” he said, voice rougher than usual.

            “Sir,” came a voice, emanating from the small speaker. “We are approaching Union Space station. Fifteen minutes to dock.”

            “Fine,” Derek replied.

            From over his shoulder, standing on his tiptoes, Stiles chirped, “Thank you!”

            Derek closed his eyes and turned around. Stiles pecked him on the lips, and he blinked at him. “You know the whole ship is going to know about this in an hour, right?”

            Stiles laughed and dragged Derek towards the shower with wicked intent.

 

 

 

Someone came to find them, a few minutes after they docked. They didn’t answer the door, because they hadn’t left the shower. Still, they managed to stumble out of their quarters a few minutes later, when the dinging became incessant.

            Scott was the one pressing the chime, when they got into the hall. A guide was waiting for them, different from the night before. He was smiling at Derek and Stiles. Derek had underestimated the rumor mill.

            They were led all the way back to the ramp of the ship, into a huge hanger bay. As soon as they stepped out, Stiles saw his dad. He raced down, Derek hesitating at the top, and grabbed his dad in a hug.

            “You’re okay,” John breathed, hugging his son tightly, “I’m so glad you’re okay.

            Derek reached the bottom of the ramp just as they pulled apart. Then, a girl with long dark hair was bounding into Derek’s arms. Laura had arrived just behind the Chancellor. “Kllrak, Laura,” Derek complained, but he squeezed Laura back.

            Stiles watched them, until Laura pulled away and looked at him. Her eyes were slightly darker than Derek’s, almost maroon. “Hello,” she told Stiles, smiling brightly.

            Laura was beautiful, with long dark curls, but her eyes were amused. She instantly made Stiles feel at ease. “Am I supposed to bow?” he joked.

            Derek snorted and Laura looked between them in surprise.

            John laughed, hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “Come on, we’ve got a conference room waiting. You can tell us everything.”

            “Call me Laura,” she told Stiles, winking.

            Choking, Stiles glanced at Derek. He rolled his eyes behind her shoulder, and Stiles said, “Stiles.”

 

 

 

            The explanations were actually fairly easy. When they finished, they were all slouched in their chairs and felt exhausted. There were nine of them, Chris Argent having slipped in to sit at the end of the table early on.

            “Peter showed his hand too soon,” Laura explained. "He got impatient and tried to shoot me while I was eating with a friend.”

            John nodded, “And Chris came to me as soon as he realized what was happening.”

            It seemed like a very simple cleanup to Stiles. He frowned.

            “I’m sorry you had to do what you did, Stiles,” Chris said suddenly.

            “Me too,” Stiles told him. He didn’t exactly trust Mr. Argent, but there really wasn’t anything else he could say.

 

 

 

            A few days afterward, Stiles dragged himself from his bed and stepped into his own living room to find Derek sitting on the sofa, while his dad stared at him intently. He walked between them toward the kitchen, placing a kiss on Derek’s cheek unthinkingly as he said good morning.

            John spluttered slightly, and then announced, “I’m assuming that’s what you came to talk to me about.”

            Derek cleared his throat and said “Yes, Sir” like his life depended on it.

            “Oops,” Stiles told him.

            The doorbell rang and he opened it to find Laura on the other side. He gestured for her to come in and left the door open before heading into the kitchen.

            “The students came back today,” she announced, sweeping into the living room. “Your friend Lydia positively tackled one of them.” There was laughter in her voice.

            John chuckled, “That’s Jackson. They’ve always been rather close.” He didn’t even sound like he resented it anymore, the way he had when Stiles kept insisting he was in love with her.

            Laura hummed. “It seems my brother and your son have formed something of an attachment to each other.”

            “It seems,” John resonated.

            “Figures,” Laura began carefully, “I ask Derek to watch out for him and he becomes part of the problem.”

At the risk of sounding like a mimic, John repeated her again, “Figures.”

“I was thinking it would be a good idea not to separate them. We need someone to head up the new research department we’re setting up. On Varulk.” Laura sounded hesitant.

            Almost dropping the cup he was filling with water, Stiles skidded back into the living room. “Yes!” he shouted, “Please! I want to!”

            Laughing, Laura looked at John, who nodded. “Or we could just force them to get married. For the sake of the treaty.”

            “Oh, now that’s an idea,” Laura mused.

            “No, seriously, I want to run your research thing. I could catalogue plants and drag Derek with me to make sure he doesn’t try to touch anymore poisonous bugs and Lydia can come too, because she’d love that.” Stiles blurted quickly, falling onto the sofa next to Derek.

            John smiled at him, the skin around his eyes crinkling, “Well, if you insist.”

            “I insist,” Stiles told him.

            Clapping her hands, Laura stood, “Well, that’s settled. Of course, I’ll need to look at your exam grade, first.”

            “Oh, they all passed with flying colors,” John said, waving a hand, “I think surviving gets them that much.”

 

           

            They woke slowly, when the sun became too bright for them to sleep anymore. It streamed in from the balcony, warming the air until Stiles had to kick off the blankets.

            He took a deep breath and stretched, Derek’s arm falling from his chest to settle over his hips. It was nice, finally being able to breathe on Varulk without getting dizzy. It had taken a few weeks, but Stiles could even run without the excess oxygen bothering him now.

            Next to Stiles, Derek groaned. He’d taken to burying his face in Stiles’ shoulder every morning, hiding from the sun. His breath tickled Stiles’ skin, and he rolled over so he was mostly on top of Derek. Derek was not a morning person. At all.

            “Time to get up,” Stiles chimed.

            Derek hummed and blinked open bleary eyes. “No,” he pouted.

            Two years ago, Stiles would never have believed Derek capable of pouting. Now, it just made him raise his eyebrows. Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles’ waist and squeezed. “I love you,” Stiles told him, “I do. And I honestly wish that I could stay right here forever. But I do actually need to go to work at some point, or Lydia will eviscerate me. Don’t think she won’t.”

            Huffing, Derek pressed a kiss to Stiles’ forehead. It was a common habit, something he did nearly every morning. “Love you too,” he sighed.

            Taking that as permission, Stiles attempted to pull away. Derek just tightened his grip. “Stay,” he whispered, pressing his hips up into Stiles’. He was hard against Stiles’ hip, and his eyes were burning.

            “Jupiter’s moons,” Stiles hissed. Derek knew what his rough, sleepy voice did to Stiles. Besides, Stiles had no resistance.

            Derek gave Stiles a filthy kiss, and then murmured “Stay” against his lips.

            Stiles stayed until Lydia was pounding on their door, and their room was so hot from the sun and sex that he could barely move. “Damn your eyes,” he told Derek, when he got up to leave. Derek smiled.


End file.
